The evil without, a driving force for all that is parasitic within man, consume until nothing remains and keep consuming. The ultimate man in this age wouldn’t be too far from a leech raining down from the sky. Showing up, dressed like a gentleman selling the knife with which you choose that they should use on you. The hungry vultures clean up and leave behind a faint trace of bones for history to forget. What isn’t written down is what exists around us, only when we don’t want it to, like the air we weren’t supposed to breathe and the fire we weren’t supposed to burn.
The sheer willpower of the fire burning down the forest is unmatched as we can’t do much but stare at the charred remains of our lungs as the doctor pulls out the tumor, showing us how we ate ourselves from the inside, yet we stare in blind surprise. Oh! How we humor ourselves each day to be the kindling that lets the fire rage as the jesters and the fools cautioning us to beware, yet we can’t feel the heat until it burns us oh so quick and creeps on forward. So, who shall observe and vanquish the heat away from this world? Tell me, Keepers of Truth?
The eagles shall watch the animals, run from the fire, fast enough to live another second, slow enough to let the fire have death beckoned. As they soar the skies, the dry mud beneath shall find that it is their hollow bones that fan the flames onwards till the far South. Yet man shall persevere, finding newer avenues to run away from the flame, finding that he too shares his ancestors’ DNA. This cannibalistic hunger shan’t allow the blessed waters from saving a single tree, until this forest becomes his.
The trivial details of why we exist no longer matter, we exist to exist, filling the vacuum of power to favor us. Shall walls and colors divide us or their non-existence’s shared joy bring us closer? The promise of God is not akin to godhood, which we attain by shedding the ambitions of having a God, shall we want anything on the throne, except for the tiny creatures that we are? We ask ourselves, who shall save us, yet do we need saving? Or shall our burning be our salvation? The longer the evil rages without, the further we move through the fabric of our existence, soon we might not be as green as we want to be and soon colors shall fade to bring light into this dark tunnel of despair as it collapses, trapping us inside for an eternity, forcing us to burn with the forest on top of us.
Don’t travel too far from the nest, lest you forget where to return once the hail begins, then don’t bother returning, as we have become our hell. Kill the fire, snuff out the flames, die trying and we are to blame.
Despair against the dwindling sunshine, hope for our saviors to rise.